The Island

The sun rises higher in the sky. It slowly brightens the park and the warmth touches my arms. Gibson and I walk in the opposite direction from where the killer was going. We stick close to rides, maps, carts, anything that we can hide behind.

Our eyes are everywhere, but I think we’re alone for now.

“Hey, Gibson.” I say. “Do you think you’d recognize Robert if you saw him?”

He takes a few seconds to think about it, probably trying to put a face to the name in his mind. “Maybe. I’ve worked the rides a bit in preparation for this week and to cover vacation and sickness, but I’m mostly here for the boat.”

“But doesn’t that mean you see everyone.”

He shrugs. “Like I said before, I’m not really focused on the guys. And once I’m on the boat I’m focused on the sea. You don’t respect the sea, you drown. The ocean can change in an instant if you’re not vigilant.”

“Sounds like there’s a story there,” I say, looking over my shoulder, totally paranoid.

He laughs. “You don’t miss a thing, Paisley, do you? There’s a story, and it’s not a nice one. I’ve always sailed, my dad and grandpa had boats. When I was fifteen, I was with friends. One guy, Damian, decided to take his boat out. He was reckless, had been as long as I’d known him. We told him not to go because the conditions were unstable. There were reports of a storm, but we weren’t sure if it would just miss us. He went anyway when we all went home. The storm hit, and he capsized and drowned.”

“I’m sorry. That’s awful. Was Reeve with you? He doesn’t sail, does he?”

“He was there, but he’s never been interested in sailing.”

I look around, high and low as we walk. “He told me about what happened. The night of the fight.”

“What?” Gibson grabs my wrist. “He told you that?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Letting me go, he says, “He doesn’t tell anyone who doesn’t need to know. What happened?”

“I saw the folder in the staff files when we were looking for Robert. It was a folder that had his conviction in it.”

Gibson grinds his teeth. “That whole thing was total bullshit. He was just trying to stop this asshole from punching me again.”

“Did you want to press charges against him? Reeve said the other guy threw the first punch.”

Gibson frowns and his reply comes just a second too late. “The cops weren’t interested in our side. Not when the punk’s dad was loaded.”

Which part is he lying about? The first punch or pressing charges?

“Reeve’s worked hard to get his life on track since he got out. He’s a good guy, Paisley. He wouldn’t hurt anyone who wasn’t trying to hurt him or someone he cares about.”

“Yeah, that’s what made it so hard to think he was behind this.”

“Wait. You suspected him?”

Me and my big mouth. “It crossed my mind when I saw his conviction, before he explained.” It’s a white lie. I don’t want us to turn on each other.

Gibson gives that a second’s thought and then seems to understand that it’s pretty reasonable. “I trust him with my life,” he tells me, and I believe him wholeheartedly.

He would if Reeve has stepped in to stop some guy beating him up…and ended up doing time for it. Gibson must feel like he owes a lot to Reeve.

He got him the job, after all.

“You see anything yet?” he asks.

“Nope. It’s supposed to be obvious too. How come we never saw it? I have hours of footage from the island. I took selfies with just about everything. I never saw the jammer.”

“We weren’t looking. It’ll be a black box, easily mistaken for a speaker,” he says.

I glance around the park and gasp. Grabbing Gibson’s arm, I tug him closer and point with my other hand. “There!”

A figure is in the distance, walking away from us.

“Shit!” Gibson bundles me behind a block of toilets. “I think it’s a guy. Look at the shoulders.”

I crouch down and peer around the corner. Yup, broad shoulders. Those can’t be hidden. Gibson follows my lead from above me. It’s awkward—my neck is bent at a weird angle and I’m kind of being crushed a little, but I can’t complain about that.

“What the…,” he mutters. “He’s not leaving.”

The killer walks in circles around a food cart and picnic tables. We watch him do that three times.

“Why is he hanging around here rather than off killing people?” he whispers.

“Because there’s something or someone here that he needs.” I scan the area close to him and finally see it. “Gibson, look over by that tree, just poking out from the trash can beside it….”

I smile up at him and feel a glimmer of hope for the first time since I found Will’s body. I’m even drying off.

“The jammer. Hell yeah,” he whispers in reply. “Nice one, Paisley.”

“That’s why he’s hanging out here. He’s guarding it.”

“He wants to stop us from getting to it. So, he knows our plan. Not that it would’ve been too hard to guess.”

“No, it was obvious that we needed to get cell service back. We have to get over there, Gibson.”

“How? The maniac is on guard.”

I retie my hair into a tight ponytail, getting all of the frizzy loose strands out of my way. “He’s on guard because he knows that’s what we’re out here looking for. If one of our groups finds it, then this is over, and he can’t be in more than one place at a time. Though…I thought this was a team. Where’s his evil little partner?”

“Camilla is probably off making a hot cocoa for her mini freak. Maybe one is hunting and the other defending.”

The thought sends an ice-cold chill down my spine.

Could Camilla really be a killer too? It was easier to think of her as a silent partner. Hiding in the shadows, cheering her son as he…does whatever he’s doing. But to think of her getting her hands dirty turns my stomach.

Could that be what was different about the person I saw from the restaurant? I thought it was just because it was light and we were safe. But now that I think about it, maybe it’s because it was another person.

I didn’t see them long enough to figure out if there was a height or size difference.

“If I was doing this, I’d have one playing offense and the other defense.”

“Are you confessing, Paisley?”

“Of course I’m not! Let’s focus on our next move. How do we get past him and break that jammer?”

Gibson jerks his head my direction. “I could make a run for it. Distract him while you go take care of the jammer.”

“No way, he might kill you! The dude has a knife and my hammer is in the restaurant.”

Stupid mistake leaving that behind.

“Well, he’s not moving without a distraction.”

“Agreed. But does that have to be one of us?” I ask.

“No, it has to be me. There’s no way I’m letting you do it.”

“Not letting me?”

I feel his eyes roll. “You can smash the patriarchy later, Paisley. I’m going to do a bad job of hiding while I run past him. When he starts to chase me, you go for the jammer. Make sure it can’t be used again.”

“Gibson!” I grab his wrist.

“We have to. Break it and find someplace to hide until the coast is clear. Then make your way back to the hotel, charge your phone, and call for help. Do not trust Malcolm or Camilla if you see them. I’ll meet you there when I can.”

“I—I…Yeah, okay.”

Our whole conversation is in frantic whispers while we watch the profile of a madman. I’m not at all sure about this but we have to try. There’s a lot at risk.

“Are you ready, Pais—”

I nudge him to shut him up as someone else has appeared. “Look! What the…Oh god.”

Camilla. What the hell is she doing?

She’s walking toward him with her palms raised in surrender.

Gibson gasps. “Shit. It really is her and her son.”

“Robert,” I whisper. We’re about to witness this killing team interact. There’s always a dominant and a submissive. It’s fascinating in a way that terrifies me to my very core.

“Why would she be holding her hands up?”

“Who cares.”

“I do,” I reply, and take a step forward.

I don’t get any farther than that because Gibson scoops me up like I weigh nothing. “No way!”

I’m placed back on my feet, and we crouch.

“We can’t hear them from here. Don’t you want to know?” I ask.

“Are you crazy? It’s too risky. We don’t know what’s going to happen yet. Just wait and lip-read. You seem to be good at that.”

Lip-reading isn’t hard when it’s only one word. I’m not sure I can do a whole conversation.

I grip Gibson’s arm tight as Camilla gets closer. He doesn’t complain, but it wouldn’t surprise me if I’m cutting off his circulation.

My eyes bulge as the man watches her approach. He’s so still he doesn’t look real.

“Gibson, is she…Yeah, she is. They’re talking.”

“God, she’s in on it, Paisley. This is proof.”

“Yeah,” I whisper, my heart in my stomach. A mother-and-son killing team.

Why?

How could she? She was supposed to be one of us. It was one thing when her involvement was just a theory, but now that it’s real, the deception hits me like a truck.

“No one knows what Robert looks like.”

“Maybe he’ll take the mask off to talk to her,” I reply.

Gibson is about to respond when Robert jabs the knife into Camilla’s gut. I let out a scream that is masked by her own. Gibson’s hand clamps over my mouth. He smells like mud and sweat.

“Shhh. Shhh!” he whispers into my ear, dropping his hand. “Shhh.”

Camilla drops to her knees, staring up at the man with wide, horrified eyes.

A look of betrayal.

Her son did that.

He bends over her, and his arm moves with such rapid succession that I almost miss him doing it. He stabs her again and again.

I sob silently and squeeze my lips together so I don’t vomit.

“Shhh,” Gibson whispers like you would to a small child.

I cling to him and hope that he doesn’t let go. If he does, I might fall apart.

Robert stands tall and watches as Camilla’s blood drips off the blade and onto the ground.

Camilla falls again, curling onto her side. She cries out, but her voice is too jumbled for me to make out what she’s saying.

I go to take a step, but Gibson pulls me back.

“What are you doing? We have to help her!” I say.

“She’s dead.” He looks at me like I’ve suddenly lost my mind. “Plus, didn’t we just agree that she was in on this?”

“If she was working with him, why would he kill her, Gibson?”

“Look.”

Camilla is talking from the ground. Spluttering. Her mouth opens wider than usual as she tries to shout, but we hear no noise.

“What’s she saying?” he asks.

“It seems rhythmic. Like she’s saying the same thing over and over. Two syllables, I think,” I reply. “Robert.”

“Makes sense. Her demon spawn. This is what happens when you don’t tell your kids murder is wrong.”

His comment is lighthearted and much needed right now because my stomach is churning.

I tug on his sleeve. “We have to get the others. I can’t stay here.”

He looks around and opens his mouth as if he’s about to tell me he has a great plan. Then he closes it again.

“Gibson?”

“Right. The others were headed east, but it’s been a while now so let’s head south. They’re doing a loop, so we should eventually run into them.”

“Will we still be able to see him?” I ask.

“I hope not. But there’s a chance he’ll be able to see us.”

I slump with dread. “But I don’t want to lose him. If we don’t know where he is…”

He grabs my hand and pulls me along. “Don’t let go.”

The sun beats down on us, stinging my burnt shoulders despite it being so early. It’s a nice contrast to last night, when I was cool and wet. It’s the type of day with fresh, clean sea air and bright sunlight that makes you want to chill outside. Today is going to be hot.

I should be at a pool with my friends, trying to get the attention of my bestie’s gorgeous older brother.

I shouldn’t be here. My dad was right. This was a stupid idea.

Gibson and I sprint around the corner of the Black Tulip. I have to swipe tears and blink rapidly to clear my watery vision.

A sharp pain in my side slows me down and Gibson has to pull me along so I can keep up. He doesn’t complain about basically carrying me.

All I want to do is fall apart.

The look on Camilla’s face. The devastation of knowing someone she loves has hurt her.

Gibson doesn’t let go of my hand. I’m holding so tight it’s probably impossible anyway. We move quickly, hiding behind fairground stalls, trees, shrubs, and ride booths.

“Paisley, come on,” he says when I trip and stumble.

“Sorry.” I’m hollow. “She’s d-dead.”

I saw a person murdered in front of me. Her blood was everywhere.

It’s so much worse than finding Will and James dead.

I watched her take her last breath.

Gibson ignores me as we race toward the hotel side of the island. We’re both out of breath, but we don’t stop.

It feels so wrong to not know where the killer is. He could be following us.

I look over my shoulder and let Gibson lead me. I’ve pushed past the stitch in my side, determined not to be the weak link and get him killed.

“Down!” With a gasp, I turn and jump on him.

We crash to the ground, and I land on his back.

“Where?” is all he asks.

I shuffle off him and we duck behind a tree as the killer strolls west. I press myself into Gibson’s side and he shrinks too. We try to make ourselves as small as possible.

I clamp my mouth shut to stop a cry from escaping.

Please, just let us get away.

I listen carefully. Waves gently crash against the island. My heartbeat’s in overdrive. No footsteps.

“He didn’t see us,” I say, peering around the tree. “He’s gone. Where did he go?”

Gibson sneaks a look. “I don’t know. He disappeared fast. Down to the jetty, maybe.”

“Why? There aren’t any more boats to steal,” I say.

He shrugs.

“Do you think we should go for the jammer?”

“Yeah, but we have to warn the others.”

“I think they know there’s a killer on the loose by now.”

He laughs. “We sort of know where he is, though, and I don’t want to go back that way yet. Come on.”

Gripping my hand, he leaps up. I’m on my feet a heartbeat later and this time, I run beside him.

Behind us, I hear a scraping sound, like metal on metal.